


Bring On The Wonder

by spilled_notes



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-02 21:34:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8684152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spilled_notes/pseuds/spilled_notes
Summary: After that kiss there are some... issues that need resolving...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song of the same name by Susan Enan (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zb0x4_2xocY&spfreload=10)

‘We can’t do this here,’ Bernie says, breathless, against Serena’s neck.

‘Why not?’ Serena murmurs, finding her lips again and kissing her fiercely.

The hand not firmly tangled in Bernie’s hair slips under the hem of her scrub top, seeking bare skin, and Bernie lets out a strangled moan. ‘Because – oh fuck, Serena.’

‘Trying,’ Serena says dryly.

Bernie’s laugh becomes a gasp as Serena’s fingers edge under the waistband of her trousers. She closes her eyes, swallows hard, catches at Serena’s hand to stop her moving any lower.

They stare at each other, both flushed, chests heaving and eyes dark.

‘Because,’ Bernie tries again, lips a hair’s breadth from Serena’s, 'I would never be able to work in here again.’

Serena smiles and, unable to resist, Bernie kisses her softly.

‘Not to mention someone’s bound to call security and interrupt us.’

‘True,’ Serena concedes. ‘I don’t really want the entire ward seeing me ravish you.’

‘What makes you think you’d be the one doing the ravishing?’ Bernie murmurs, dipping her head so her hot breath whispers across Serena’s neck.

‘I suppose we are equals,’ Serena manages, with a shiver. ‘We could ravish each other.’ She presses against Bernie, delighting in the other woman’s soft groan. ‘Again and again,’ she murmurs, lips brushing the shell of Bernie’s ear.

Bernie looks up at the ceiling, trying vainly to slow her breathing, her heart. ‘Fuck,’ she mutters. ‘How soon can you leave?’ she adds with an unsteady smile.

‘Trying to skive off on your first day?’ Serena teases.

Bernie catches the glint in her eye. ‘Not at all,’ she says, looking at Serena from under her fringe and moving away slightly. ‘I’m happy to stay all night.’

Serena pulls her back, so sharply that they collide against each other. ‘I don’t think so,’ she growls ‘Only one place you’ll be staying tonight,’ she adds before kissing her again. And again, swallowing Bernie’s moan as her words sink in.

Finally she lets her go, steps back but leaves one hand on her bare forearm, unwilling to entirely break contact.

‘If you want to, that is,’ she adds, a little nervously.

‘Oh, I want to,’ Bernie assures her, reaching out with trembling fingers to stroke her cheek.

Serena eyes fall closed and she leans into her hand, unable not to. Her whole body yearns for Bernie, to touch her, be touched by her, to feel her solidity after so many weeks of nothing but imaginings.

‘I’ve missed you,’ she breathes. ‘So much.’

She feels Bernie tense, doesn’t need to look at her to know her eyes will be full of remorse but does anyway, shifts so she can mirror her position, thumb sweeping across her cheekbone.

‘But you’re here now,’ she says softly.

Bernie nods, swallows down the lump in her throat. ‘And I’m not going anywhere,’ she promises.

‘Well, other than home with me,’ Serena says with a wink, and Bernie laughs.

‘Other than that.’

She meets Serena’s lips halfway. This kiss is soft and tender, but enough to reignite their desire.

‘As soon as we can get out,’ Serena murmurs, one hand sliding back into Bernie’s hair, the other gripping her arm, trying to ground herself as want courses through her veins, making her head spin and her legs tremble.

‘Auntie Serena, I found the key!’ Jason calls from the other side of the door.

‘Thank god,’ Bernie mutters.

There’s the rattle of the key being pushed into the lock, and then Fletch’s voice.

‘Hang on, mate,’ he says, sounding as if he’s just sprinted across the ward.

‘It’s ok, Fletch,’ Serena calls, moving away from Bernie a little. She trails her hand down Bernie’s arm, smiles when Bernie tangles their fingers together.

The door swings open to reveal a grinning Jason and a concerned Fletch. He takes one look at the pair of them, sees their flushed cheeks, dishevelled hair, smudged lipstick, and ushers Jason away.

‘Why don’t we just give them a minute, yeah?’

Serena shoots him a grateful smile as he pulls the door to again.

‘That,’ Bernie says, ‘is why we’re not doing anything else here.’

‘Alright, I’ll give you that one.’

Serena means to let go of Bernie, means to pull on her coat and pack her bag ready to leave. Instead she finds herself shifting closer, kissing those impossibly soft lips again.

‘Can’t get enough of you,’ she murmurs.

‘Feeling’s mutual,’ Bernie says, gazing at her through half-lidded eyes. She raises a hand, gently wipes away smears of lipstick with her thumb.

Serena’s lips part at her touch and she can’t resist grazing the pad with her teeth, with the very tip of her tongue.

Bernie gasps at the sensation, then moans softly when she sees how dark Serena’s eyes are. ‘Serena,’ she breathes.

‘Come home with me?’

Unable to speak, Bernie nods. Reluctantly she lets go of Serena so they can both gather their things. Her fingers are shaking so much she fumbles with everything, huffs in frustration and looks up to find Serena watching her, waiting.

‘Ready?’ she asks, smiling fondly, holding out her hand.

‘Ready.’ Bernie laces their fingers together, can’t resist kissing her broad smile, tongue briefly slipping inside to touch Serena’s. ‘Shall we?’ she asks, grinning at Serena’s dazed expression.

‘I’m staying with Fletch and Mr di Lucca tonight,’ Jason announces when they walk over to the nurses station hand in hand.

‘You- you are?’ Serena frowns, her pulse quickening. She feels Bernie grip her hand tighter.

‘Yes. So you and Bernie can have-’

‘Thank you, Jason,’ she says loudly. ‘Thank you,’ she mouths to Fletch, who winks and smiles cheekily, jerking his head towards the exit.

‘Oh, you might want this,’ he says, holding out the wrapped bottle.

‘Thanks,’ Serena smiles, taking it from him. ‘Not sure I need it though,’ she adds, glancing at Bernie. The lust in her eyes has tempered a little but is still, _oh_ , so evident. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and Serena has to look away. ‘Right, we’ll, um, we’ll see you in the morning.’

‘Have a good night, ladies,’ Fletch grins.

‘Oh, we will,’ Bernie replies, her tone making Serena shiver. And then walk faster.

*

There’s no one else in the lift. As soon as the doors close Bernie presses her against the wall, renders her silent with a searing kiss before her lips trail along Serena’s jaw, down her neck, nose edging her collar aside. It’s all Serena can do to cling to her, to keep herself upright.

The onslaught is over much too soon; the lift never seems to move this fast when she’s running late. As it shudders to a halt Bernie raises her head, and Serena can’t help the whimper that escapes her throat when she moves away.

Still hand in hand they hurry to Serena’s car. She’s never been so glad for her designated space, never been so desperate to get away from here as quickly as possible. Never burned with such lust and desire as Bernie has awoken in her.

The key scrapes as she fights to find the ignition, finally turns it to start the engine. She grips the steering wheel tightly, knuckles turning white with the effort of not reaching for Bernie again.

Feeling bereft at the loss of contact Bernie places a hand on Serena’s thigh.

‘Don’t touch me,’ Serena warns. She can sense Bernie stiffen, her hand jerking away as if burned, and swiftly catches it, places it over her racing heart. ‘I need to get us home in one piece,’ she explains.

Bernie exhales, nods, squeezes Serena’s fingers and then clasps her hands tightly, places them firmly in her lap and stares straight ahead into the quickly dimming evening. Serena looks at her a moment longer then blinks, shakes her head slightly, and pulls away.

Bernie doesn’t look at her the entire journey, doesn’t open her mouth. Can’t. She’s trembling, fingers fidgeting. All she can smell is Serena, every breath testing her restraint. She doesn’t touch her when they get out, when they walk along the pavement side by side, when Serena’s keys jangle as she struggles to unlock her front door.

And then they’re inside, and the breath is forced from her body as she finds her back against the door, Serena kissing her as though her life depends on it.

It’s over before she has chance to respond. Serena quickly drops her bag, shrugs off her coat, slips off her shoes, looks at her expectantly. Bernie shakes herself from her daze and does the same, then takes Serena’s outstretched hand and allows herself to be led through the dark house. Serena’s skin feels electric against hers, every nerve ending in her fingers alight, alive in a way she never remembers feeling before.

By the time they reach the stairs she can see well enough not to stumble up them. She automatically notes which steps creak, then how many doors they pass before Serena opens one, tugs her inside and pushes it closed with Bernie against it.

Bernie’s breath stutters as both of Serena’s hands slip under her top and smooth across bare skin. She tips her head back against the hard wood, closes her eyes, fights to cling onto the last thread of control.

‘No interruptions,’ Serena murmurs. ‘No onlookers, no one to overhear. No reason to hold back.’

And there it goes. Bernie’s eyes fly open and her lips find Serena’s, desperate and greedy and bruising. Blindly she pushes away from the door, walks them both further into the room. Serena’s blouse is the first item to be carelessly dropped to the floor, swiftly followed by Bernie’s scrub top and then everything else in quick succession, a crumpled trail of fabric left in their wake.

They halt when Serena’s bare legs hit the mattress, stare wide-eyed at each other in the orangey glow from the streetlights outside.

‘Curtains?’ Serena breathes.

Bernie nods, skirts the bed and almost runs to the window, shutting out the world as Serena switches on a lamp, soft light flooding the room. She removes her jewellery, places it carefully on the bedside table, turns to find Bernie stood on the opposite side of the bed, gaze hungrily raking down her body.

Together they pull back the covers, meet in the centre of the mattress, noses almost touching as they reach for each other.

And then frantic hands are everywhere, desperate to feel every inch of skin all at once. Hot lips meet fiercely, over and over, separate to draw breath, meet again. Separate to voice moans and gasps as fingers stroke at pulse points, pinch at nipples, roam lower across waist and hip and thigh, rake through already damp curls.

‘Don’t you dare think of teasing me,’ Serena practically growls. ‘There’ll be plenty of time for that later.’

‘Wasn’t going to,’ Bernie replies, groaning at how wet Serena is. She brushes her clit once, twice, then plunges two fingers deep inside her.

Serena’s brain short-circuits. There’s nothing but white light and the roaring rush of blood and Bernie inside her.

And then she moves, so sharply she dislodges Bernie’s fingers and instantly feels empty.

‘Need to feel you,’ she growls. And with no hesitation, no warning, she’s inside her, the length of her fingers grazing her clit on the way in. The sound Bernie makes is like nothing she’s ever heard before, she feels like nothing she’s ever felt before, and Serena thinks she might come from it.

And then Bernie’s lips are on hers, Bernie’s fingers are curling inside her again, and it’s all so much, too much, not enough.

Bernie has never been loud during sex. Marcus – well, Marcus never really stood a chance of making her scream, did he? And with Alex being quiet was a necessity rather than a choice. But here, in Serena’s bed, she finds herself making noises she can’t quite believe are coming from herself they’re so unfamiliar. She can’t help herself, doesn’t want to, doesn’t care. And it feels so good to let go, to feel safe enough to let go.

Besides, Serena isn’t exactly quiet herself. Bernie suspected she might be rather vocal – Serena, who embraces everything so fully and wholeheartedly. But the reality of hearing her, of being the one causing her to make these sounds, of hearing her name falling from Serena’s lips, is far beyond anything she could have imagined.

She feels her orgasm rushing towards her shockingly fast, helpless to hold herself back, to wait for Serena. It’s all she can do to whisper her name in warning. She’s almost silent when she comes, a strangled sob tearing from her throat before she buries her face in Serena’s neck.

‘Bernie, oh darling,’ she whimpers.

Bernie can’t lift her head, instead presses open-mouthed kisses to Serena’s throat, her clavicle, tongue tracing her soft skin, tasting her sweat. She musters languid, heavy muscles and curls her fingers, pushes the heel of her hand against Serena’s clit, feels the roll of her hips stutter.

Given all her moans and gasps and cries, Serena’s orgasm is surprising in its quietness. Bernie perhaps expected a scream (not that she’s imagined this, of course. Well, not much, anyway. Certainly not almost every night since she left, since they kissed). Instead as Serena arches against her, as she contracts and flutters around Bernie’s fingers, there’s a sharp inhale, a low, ragged groan Bernie feels as much as hears, a sigh of her name like it’s something wonderful, magical.

When she manages to raise her head she finds Serena gazing at her like she’s the most precious thing in the universe, starry-eyed, like the proverbial cat who got the cream. ‘Was that alright?’ she murmurs.

‘Mm, couldn’t you tell?’ Bernie teases, biting her lip, peering at her from under her fringe.

Serena winds a hand into her hair, gently pulls her down and kisses her tenderly, humming with delight. Bernie settles against her; Serena’s skin is warm and soft against her cheek, her heart steady and comforting beneath her ear, her fingers soothing as they card through her tangled hair.

Bernie feels odd, frowns as she tries to work out why, what’s wrong in this sublime, magnificent, divine moment.

 _I’m happy_ , she realises.

That uncomfortable, unsettled feeling of not being right in her own skin, of not belonging, is gone for the first time in – well, _ever_.

She lifts her head, Serena’s hand sliding down to rest on her shoulder, gazes at her again.

‘I know I’ve got work to do,’ she begins, but Serena silences her with a soft kiss.

‘Later, darling,’ she promises. ‘For now I’d like to just bask, hm?’

Bernie smiles, nods, allows herself to be drawn back into Serena’s arms, allows the delicious happiness to wash over her. They lie wrapped in each other, sated and content, suffused with a glow not entirely from the lamplight, fingers idly tracing patterns across whatever bare skin they can reach. And then a loud rumble fills the room.

‘I’m sorry, was that thunder or your stomach?’ Serena smirks.

‘Might’ve been me,’ Bernie blushes.

‘Hungry?’

‘Haven’t exactly been eating well,’ Bernie admits.

‘Me neither. Takeaway?’

‘Excellent plan,’ Bernie smiles, shifting away from Serena and stretching. When she opens her eyes Serena’s still lying in the same position, eyes fixed on her. Bernie raises her eyebrows, tilts her head questioningly.

‘Just enjoying the view.’ She tears her gaze away and glances at the clock. ‘Too early for pyjamas?’

‘I don’t think so.’

Serena gracefully slips out from under the covers and stands, and now it’s Bernie who finds herself transfixed as she crosses the room, hips swaying gently, pulls two pairs of pyjamas out of a drawer and turns around. A smile teases her lips as she meets Bernie’s eye, walks back to sit on her side of the bed, reaches to caress her shoulder. Bernie props herself up on her elbow, stretches up, and Serena bends to meet her lips.

‘Come on then,’ she murmurs. ‘Before we both starve.’

Bernie pouts, looks up at her imploringly.

‘Don’t give me that look,’ Serena admonishes gently, but brushes their lips one more time. ‘We’ve got all night, darling,’ she says, voice low and sultry and full of promise. ‘I don’t want you passing out on me.’


	2. Chapter 2

They decide on curry. Serena trusts Bernie to order while she picks up their scattered clothes, folds them and places them neatly on a chair. She pads downstairs, avoiding the creaky side of the fourth step from the bottom, and heads for the kitchen, leans against the doorframe and watches Bernie searching the cupboards for plates and glasses.

She had considered this, too, while Bernie was away. Not just working with her, not just kissing her, being in bed with her, but the domesticity of a life together. Blearily sharing breakfast, supermarket shopping, seamlessly moving around the kitchen cooking dinner, quiz show marathons with Jason. Grumbling at the mess Bernie leaves behind her in every room, forcing her to tidy every weekend on pain of not being allowed to join her in bed.

Bernie’s moved on to hunting for cutlery now, opening and closing each drawer in turn with clearly mounting frustration, and Serena takes pity on her.

‘End drawer,’ she says softly.

‘Jesus.’ Bernie whips around, eyes wide, panting.

‘Sorry,’ Serena giggles.

‘Are you trying to give me a heart attack?’

‘Now why on earth would I want to do that?’ Serena smirks, stalking around the island towards her. ‘I hardly see how I would benefit from having you back only to dispatch you again so soon.’

After two months without her Serena can’t keep from gazing at Bernie, studying her, committing every detail to memory. Her hair is – well a mess, quite frankly, something she’s rather proud to blame herself for. There are mascara smudges beneath her eyes, her lips are red and swollen ( _my doing again,_ she thinks smugly), and she’s wearing a too-large set of Serena’s own pyjamas. But Serena’s not sure she’s ever seen anyone more beautiful.

The longer she stares, the more uncertainty seeps into Bernie’s eyes, her posture. She shifts uncomfortably, unused to such scrutiny, and finally has to look away, her gaze slipping to the marble counter.

‘Bernie,’ Serena says softly, placing a warm hand over hers.

Bernie forces herself to look up, peeking from under her fringe to meet Serena’s eye. Now the sharpest edge of lust has been dulled and the highest post-coital bliss has dimmed, she worries what she’ll see. Worries the coldness and anger and hurt that have flitted across Serena’s face today – that she has every right to feel, that she fully deserves to receive – will be back. But Serena is smiling warmly, and Bernie feels the prick of tears. She fights the urge to break eye contact, to wrap her arms around her middle, to retreat. She isn’t that woman any more. Instead she holds Serena’s gaze, offers a tentative smile of her own, strokes her thumb across Serena’s fingers.

‘Can we talk?’ she asks bravely. ‘After dinner?’

‘Bernie Wolfe asking to have a conversation?’ Serena says, feigning dramatic surprise. ‘Of course, darling.’ She squeezes her hand gently. ‘Of course,’ she repeats, the realisation that they weren’t only words, that Bernie really has changed, swelling her heart.

*

They eat at the kitchen table, feet touching as they share rogan josh and dal and pillowy, garlicky naan. Neither suggests opening a bottle: Serena was right, they don’t need it. All the intoxication she needs comes from having Bernie here; all the courage Bernie needs comes from Serena’s presence, from her willingness to take her back, to give her another chance.

Bernie insists on washing up by hand and Serena gives in to her need to _do_ , wanders into the next room and puts on some music. She sits on the sofa and waits for Bernie, allows the soothing, familiar predictability of Bach to wash over her. Lets out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding when, after looking at all the options, the other woman sits beside her, not quite touching but close enough that she could. Serena tugs a blanket over them, more for comfort than warmth, watches as Bernie stares down at her lap, bites her lip, hides behind the fringe she longs to push away so she can see those beautiful eyes.

‘I’m sorry,’ she says eventually. ‘I know it’s not enough, but I am.’

‘It’s a good start,’ Serena says. When Bernie looks at her, eyes filled with fear and hope and remorse, she reaches to touch her clasped hands, waits for her to continue. It’s painful, watching Bernie stutter and stumble and false start her way through but she needs to say it and Serena needs to hear it, so she puts her patience to good use.

‘I want to be with you, more than I’ve ever wanted anything. And it- it scares me, because I’m so good at destroying relationships and the thought of doing something wrong, of hurting you…’ She trails off, and Serena squeezes her hands gently. ‘And I know I did – I _have_ – hurt you by trying not to.’ Bernie sighs, glances up at the ceiling then down to their joined hands. ‘I was the one who needed time and space, not you.’

‘I know. You could’ve just told me that,’ Serena remonstrates gently.

‘Would’ve been the sensible thing to do,’ Bernie agrees.

‘I understand why you left. I do,’ she adds at Bernie’s disbelief. ‘I do. It’s the radio silence that really hurts. I didn’t even know if you were coming back, Bernie.’

Bernie feels the guilt flood her again, the sense of her own inadequacy almost overwhelming her. She focuses on the feel of Serena’s skin against hers, uses it to fight back the old, habitual need to run.

‘I-’ She takes a shaky breath. _God, this is hard. I can’t. I have to. She needs the truth._ ‘I thought about not coming back,’ she confesses hoarsely, feeling Serena tense beside her. ‘To start with,’ she clarifies. ‘I thought you’d be better off without me.’

‘What changed?’ Serena manages.

‘I missed you,’ Bernie says simply. ‘I missed you so much. I’m used to being away from the people I care about, but I’ve never felt so lonely, like a part of me was missing. And you – oh, Serena, the look in your eyes when I ran haunted me. I couldn’t come to terms with what it meant, with the fact that I had the power to hurt you so much already. All I could think about was how much worse it would be. I wasn’t scared of being hurt, I was scared of hurting you. You mean so much to me, Serena. I thought I was saving you from me.’

‘So you didn’t reply?’ Serena asks. She lets the edge of pain show in her tone, needs Bernie to know how much it hurt, to know she isn’t ok.

‘I wanted to, I tried. I started so many emails, wrote so many texts in my head.’

‘But?’ Serena prompts.

‘None of them were right. I couldn’t find the words, I didn’t know what to say. I- I didn’t want to get it wrong. I’m not good with words, never have been.’

‘More of an actions woman.’

Bernie nods. ‘I’ve spent, oh, a lifetime hiding how I feel, who I am. I don’t have the vocabulary, I never learned.’

‘Never too late to teach an old dog new tricks.’

‘Will- will you help me? I want to be better, you deserve better.’

‘If you’ll let me.’

Bernie nods, smiles through the tears gathering in her eyes. ‘I know I’m still going to fuck things up sometimes but I want to try – I’m going to try, Serena. Because I-’ she looks away, swallows, takes a breath.

Serena waits, lets her take the time to gather herself.

Her eyes flick back to Serena’s, and while they’re still cautious there’s a steeliness in them that she’s only ever seen across the operating table, in the trauma bay. ‘Because I love you,’ she says softly. ‘And I want to do whatever it takes to make this work. If you’ll still have me, that is.’

Serena’s crying now, tears spilling down her cheeks, and Bernie frees one hand to wipe them away. She turns her face into Bernie’s palm and presses a kiss to it.

‘Yes, darling,’ she murmurs against her skin, smiling. She shifts closer, presses against her, and Bernie wraps an arm around her.

‘I’m sorry for all the things I’m going to get wrong,’ she murmurs into Serena’s hair. ‘I’m sorry for all the things I’ve already got wrong, all the times I’ve hurt you, lied to you. I’m sorry I couldn’t just tell you the truth.’

‘You will now?’

‘I’m going to try,’ she promises. ‘Because the thought of being without you terrifies me more than anything else.’

‘Good. Because much as I want this, I can’t build another relationship on lies and half-truths.’

Serena raises her head and looks at her, and Bernie knows that this is it, this is the very last moment she can run away without breaking them irreparably. She finds Serena’s hand, laces their fingers, brushes her lips across their knuckles. ‘I don’t want that either, Serena.’

‘You’re not forgiven yet,’ Serena warns.

‘I wouldn’t expect to be.’

‘But you will be.’

‘Defending the indefensible?’ Bernie suggests.

‘That’s what love is,’ Serena smiles. ‘And I do love you, Bernie,’ she adds, shifting closer until their lips are almost touching. ‘Oh, I love you.’

It’s Bernie who closes the tiny gap between them, lips soft and almost chaste against Serena’s. She holds her face in both hands, presses their foreheads together and smiles, almost laughs, with relief. And then Serena’s hands are deep in her hair, Serena’s lips are insistent on hers, Serena’s tongue is seeking hers.

And it’s delightful, to have Serena pressed against her, half on top of her, to be snogging on her sofa like a pair of teenagers who have the house to themselves.

But Serena’s _definitely_ not a teenager. Bernie can’t get enough of her soft curves, the breathy moans that escape her lips when they part for air. And good lord, she knows exactly how to set Bernie alight. And if there was no woman in Stepney then-

Bernie groans softly and Serena halts her ministrations, lifts her head and looks at her with raised eyebrow.

‘Just thinking about how you became so familiar with how to touch a woman,’ she blushes.

‘Oh really?’ Serena smirks, fingers trailing up the buttons of Bernie’s borrowed pyjama top, right above her scar. ‘Nice thoughts?’

‘Mm, very.’

Serena leans closer. ‘Well, a single woman has to satisfy her own needs,’ she purrs, delighting in Bernie’s shiver. ‘Much more fun touching you, thought,’ she confides in Bernie’s ear.

Serena nuzzles into her, lips oh so gentle on the soft skin of her neck, across the faint line of another scar, and Bernie can’t help arching into her, one hand drifting into her hair to hold her in place when she finds a spot that makes her squirm. Serena’s lips are merciless, and she trails her fingers up the other side of Bernie’s neck to find the mirror of this spot, feels Bernie’s hum of pleasure. She kisses along Bernie’s jaw, finally meets her lips again.

_Has kissing ever felt like this?_ Serena wonders. _Like I never want to stop, like I could do this all night?_


	3. Chapter 3

Eventually, in deference to decidedly not teenaged joints, they help each other up, giggle over shared cracks and pops, hold each other steady as numb legs come back to life, and relocate upstairs. Serena finds Bernie a toothbrush, points her in the direction of the main bathroom then goes into her en suite. She brushes her teeth, removes what make up hasn’t migrated to Bernie’s lips or her pillows, and considers herself in the mirror: she looks tired but there’s a light in her eyes, a glow about her, as horribly clichéd as that is. She runs a hand through her hair, gives it up as a lost cause then wondered why she bothered at all because oh, if what happened on the sofa is anything to go by it’s only going to get worse. And she couldn’t care less.

Back in her bedroom Serena slips off her pyjamas, folds them neatly and places them at the foot of the bed, then slips under the covers and arranges them over herself.

Just in time, too. A moment later Bernie taps cautiously on the door.

‘I hardly think you need to knock, darling,’ Serena calls.

Bernie comes in, apology dying on her lips when she sees Serena, the breath stolen from her lungs, her feet rooted to the floor. She’s lying on her side, facing the door, head propped on her hand, the covers only up to her waist so Bernie can see that she’s naked.

‘Oh,’ she says, then gulps and tries again. ‘You’re-’ she shakes her head helplessly. No words seem adequate to describe the woman in front of her, the feelings swelling inside her and threatening to overflow.

‘Come here,’ Serena says, lips twitching into a smile. ‘And lose the pyjamas,’ she adds.

‘But I rather like them,’ Bernie teases, fingers plucking at the soft fabric.

‘So do I. I’d rather not ruin them.’

It’s Serena’s turn to lose her breath now. Bernie crosses the room, stopping a few paces from the bed, fixes her eyes on Serena’s and shivers at the intensity in them, the way her breath hitches when she raises her hands to her chest. She slowly unbuttons the top, slips it from her shoulders, pushes the trousers over her hips and steps out of them. She saunters the last few steps and slips under the covers, bodies not quite touching.

‘Hello you,’ she murmurs.

‘Hi,’ Serena breathes. She smiles shyly then reaches for her, her hand hesitant and trembling, worry in her eyes.

‘Are you- are you alright?’ Bernie frowns, heart beginning to hammer from fear instead of desire.

Serena nods. ‘I’m just- oh, it’s silly, I’m just a silly old woman.’

‘Never,’ Bernie says seriously. She tilts her head, and Serena gives in.

‘I’m nervous,’ she whispers, blushing and looking away.

‘After earlier?’

‘Wasn’t thinking earlier, just doing.’

Bernie caresses her cheek, coaxes Serena to look at her. ‘We don’t have to do anything except sleep. As long as I can feel your skin against mine.’

‘I want to. God, Bernie, I want to so much.’

‘But?’ Bernie dances her fingers along Serena’s cheekbone, short nails lightly grazing her skin, splays them into her hair. ‘If it helps,’ she says when Serena doesn’t reply, ‘I’m nervous too.’

‘You- you are?’ Serena frowns. ‘But it’s- well, it’s not your first time with a woman.’

‘Not yours either. I clearly didn’t do a very good job if it was that forgettable,’ Bernie teases.

‘You know what I mean.’

‘I do,’ Bernie soothes, gently massaging Serena’s scalp. ‘It’s my first time with you, though, Serena. That makes this- _oh_ , so special. So special,’ she repeats, ghosting her lips over Serena’s. And then she rolls onto her back and gazes up at Serena, all soft smile and warm eyes and openness. ‘All those things you’ve been thinking about,’ she murmurs, ‘I’ve been thinking about too.’

She draws Serena’s head down and kisses her, long and tender and unhurried, takes Serena’s hand and places it on her chest, thumb on the ridge of her clavicle, then lets her own hands fall to the pillow.

‘All yours,’ she smiles, eyes sparkling. ‘I came back for you, Serena – _to_ you.’

This time she doesn’t flinch from Serena’s gaze, doesn’t close her eyes or look away, or fidget in discomfort. Instead she watches Serena’s face as cautiously, gently, her eyes and fingers begin to explore her body. It’s endearing, the look of concentration, the same little frown she gets when she studies a patient’s scan. The glimmer in her eyes, though, is new.

 _For me,_ Bernie thinks in wonder. _Because of me._

*

Bernie is – oh, a work of art, a sculpture. No, not a sculpture because they’re cold and the warmth emanating from Bernie’s skin is undeniable, growing, matching her own. A model, perhaps, with her smooth skin and lithe figure and dusting of freckles? But no, that’s not right either. She isn’t unblemished: silvery stretch marks on her tummy, a network of scars from old and faded to the long, recent one down her sternum. Serena traces that one with her fingers, presses kisses down its length, nose brushing the edge of Bernie’s breast; she feels her moan vibrate through her lips, smiles against her. Shifts her attention from solid bone to tender flesh, open-mouthed kisses to one breast, hand smoothing across the other.

 _How can anyone be so soft?_ she wonders. _How is this possible? How is_ she _possible?_

Her thumb brushes the puckered skin of one aureole, circles the hard nipple without touching, drawing a wordless, whining plea from Bernie. Serena teases a little longer then oh so lightly draws her thumb across.

Bernie can’t help the sharp intake of breath as first the pad of Serena’s thumb and then the short nail graze her nipple. Can’t help the groan and arch of her back when the other is suddenly between Serena’s warm lips, being flicked and caressed by Serena’s tongue.

Serena’s just as thorough in bed as she is at work, tries every spot and angle and speed, fingers and lips and tongue and – _oh_ , teeth – until Bernie is quivering beneath her. And then she lifts her head, sits back and splays her hands over Bernie’s rib cage, draws them across her stomach, maps the curve of her waist, settles them on her hips. She maps her with her eyes too, so intense Bernie swears she can feel it. Takes in the flush of arousal, the heaving chest, the erect nipples, up further over parted lips and reddened cheeks, until two pairs of desire-darkened eyes meet.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ Serena murmurs.

She resettles herself, their nipples brushing deliciously as she leans down and kisses her, swallowing every whimper and moan and sigh as her hand starts from her jaw all over again. Neck, clavicle, sternum. Oversensitive nipple, waist, hip. The outside of one thigh, the gentle graze of nails back up. Down again, as far as she can reach, Bernie’s muscles quivering and skin pimpling in response. Back up the inside, stopping just short of where Bernie is desperate for her to touch.

Serena’s so engrossed in studying Bernie’s body and how Bernie responds to her touch that she doesn’t realise how turned on she is herself until she finally allows her fingers to glide through Bernie’s wetness, until she feels just how incredibly wet she is ( _me_ , she thinks with a soft groan. _I did this_ ). Until her swollen clit jumps, until Bernie softly keens and gasps her name, and Serena feels it through her whole body.

Thorough again, Serena is entranced by how Bernie feels, by the different sounds she makes when Serena alters her touch, when she strokes or flicks or circles, feather light or firm, quick or slow, when she tries gently rolling her clit between two fingers because she relishes that sensation (relished it often when Bernie was away, when the hot, dark thoughts of her became too much to ignore) – and _oh_ , it seems Bernie does too.

‘Good?’ she murmurs.

‘Mm,’ Bernie smiles, and then groans when Serena adds her thumb, still soft but relentless.

Bernie comes without either of them trying, gentle, soothing waves as Serena caresses her. And Serena doesn’t stop, draws it out with tender touches, delights in Bernie’s pleasure. Still doesn’t stop, fingers teasing at her entrance, slipping easily to reach deep inside. Bernie’s thighs fall open even more, and Serena realises amid the thrumming of her own desire how much this means, how hard this must be for her.

Bernie feels almost complete, lifts one hand to cup Serena’s head, draws their lips together and kisses her. Her legs wrap around Serena of their own accord, affording her a different angle that makes Bernie’s hips roll, makes Serena’s twisted wrist scream in agony but she doesn’t notice because suddenly it’s pressing against her own wet heat, against her own clit. Her hips cant against Bernie’s, trapping her hand but she’s powerless to stop them, to stop herself rocking against Bernie.

Serena is surprised no end – amazed – that when Bernie’s incoherent babbling and cursing turns to a near-scream of her name she finds herself overtaken by a shuddering orgasm too.

 _How?_ she thinks wildly, cradled by Bernie’s legs, Bernie’s hot breath fast against her neck. _How, oh how can touching her do this to me?_

*

Bernie fights back the languor and rolls them until she can straddle Serena, lavishes kisses all over her body ( _goddess,_ she thinks, _perfect_ ), hair brushing feather light across her skin, slowly makes her way down until she’s between her legs. She glances up to check this is alright and feels the breath knocked from her lungs at Serena’s expression. It’s not just the arousal, the lust, but also the love, the trust shining in her eyes.

‘Please,’ she whispers, one hand reaching for Bernie’s, twining their fingers. ‘Please, darling.’

Bernie has been wanting to taste Serena all evening (longer, really. Wondered how she would taste frequently while she was away and fantasies assailed her every night). When she finally lowers her mouth to kiss her she’s certain she almost passes out because fuck, if Serena Campbell doesn’t taste miles, _leagues_ better than anything she could ever have imagined.

She teases too, gives Serena a taste of her own medicine. Draws it out as much as she can, can’t get enough of her, wants to give her the world and everything in it. This time her orgasm is far from silent, Bernie’s name the only recognisable sound. And then Bernie is kissing her lips, is slowly entering her and she almost sobs at the brush of her fingers against her clit. It turns to a low, guttural groan that vibrates through Bernie’s entire body as she strokes her, firm and measured and unhurried.

‘I don’t ever want to stop doing this,’ Bernie murmurs.

‘I could- oh, I could live with that.’

And in fact neither of them seems able to stop. Bernie feels like all her birthdays and Christmasses have come at once – to be here, now, in Serena’s bed, making love to – _with_ – Serena. It can’t possibly be real, can it? Not something that feels this incredible, this astounding, in her soul as well as her body? But it must be, because while her imagination’s good (as it proved over and over while she was in Ukraine and it was all she had) she could never – _never_ – have dreamt this.

Serena wonders, in one of the lulls between swelling, crashing waves of pleasure, if she’s experiencing multiple orgasms or just one, prolonged and protracted over what feels like hours. Decides as it builds again that it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that it doesn’t stop, that Bernie doesn’t stop, that they can keep on doing this forever.

*

Eventually, god knows how many hours (or orgasms) later, they fall to simply kissing each other, lips meeting over and over, soft and playful, both breathless and smiling. Bernie feels tears spilling from her eyes, down her face, sees that Serena’s cheeks are damp too. She gently wipes them away with her thumb, Serena mirroring her actions.

‘Happy tears?’

‘Yes,’ Bernie nods, smile curving even wider. ‘Very definitely.’

‘Good.’ Serena kisses her again, salt now mingling with the taste of herself and Bernie already on their lips, their tongues, then curls into her side.

Bernie holds her close. She’s never been one for hugs but apparently Serena’s body moulded against hers is all she’s ever wanted and she sighs contentedly, nuzzles into her hair and breathes her in.

Serena falls asleep first. With some awkward manoeuvring and ingenious use of her feet Bernie manages to catch at the covers and tug the soft cotton over them, reaches to switch off the lamp. Serena murmurs a sleepy protest at her moving and Bernie smiles into the darkness when she snuggles back into her, presses a kiss to the top of her head.

The last thing she thinks as she drifts off is that she hopes Serena has set her alarm, because she suspects even her unerring body clock might have been knocked askew by jet lag and emotional turmoil and hours spent worshipping and being worshipped by Serena Campbell.


End file.
